


Happiness In Leather Pants

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Goes Shopping, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Nearly Human Castiel, POV Castiel, Sam Winchester is a Saint, an exploration of happiness through wardrobe choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a case, Dean, Sam, and Cas go their separate ways to cover three potential bars the vampire they're hunting for has been trolling for victims. Cas ends up at a goth/punk dance club, and learns a little bit about what his trusty suit and trench coat might be telling the world about him. When he vehemently disagrees, a few new friends decide to help him match his wardrobe to his personality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness In Leather Pants

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally inspired by my ridiculous tag ramble on [THIS TUMBLR POST](http://iwatchthepie.tumblr.com/post/126760272652/he-definitely-moodily-loitered-for-at-least-the). Sadly, I didn't earn my bonus points for full goth wear, or lace. But I did at least get him half way there. Maybe there will be a lacy sequel?  
> I did, however, turn it into destiel. SURPRISE! :D

Dean said it was just an observe-and-report mission. All Cas had to do was hang around the bar until closing time to make sure, in Dean’s words, none of the civilians inside ended their night as vampire chow.

Over the last few weeks, three people had disappeared from a two block stretch of downtown. All of them had been bar hopping before they vanished. All of them had also been found the following morning-- with torn throats and barely enough blood left to fill a teacup-- in an abandoned lot a block over. At least the vampire, or vampires, in question had a relatively small hunting ground. It still encompassed several bars, and Sam hadn’t wanted to leave any of them unguarded. Now that Cas was hunting regularly with the Winchesters, they had the manpower to cover all three at once.

Dean chose the hipsterish pseudo-dive bar down the street as his own preferred stakeout location. He’d practically drooled at the opportunity to fleece a few of the locals hustling some pool. Sam relented, noting that they were coming to the end of their cash reserves.

Sam took the cocktail lounge across the street, thinking he’d do a better job of blending in with the middle-management, nine-to-five crowd just starting to roll in after work. Cas may have looked the part well enough in his rumpled suit, but Sam felt Cas might lack some of the schmoozing skills needed to work that sort of crowd for any length of time.

That left Cas here, on the sidewalk out front of a club called Rapture. When Dean had dropped him and Sam off before looking for an inconspicuous parking spot for the Impala, he’d taken one look at the blood-red neon sign-- and the leather-clad, metal-spike-encrusted bouncer standing beneath it-- and shot Cas an evil grin.

“Good luck, man,” Dean had said, trying to keep from laughing. “Call Sammy if you can’t remember your safe word.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he slid out of the front seat of the Impala. “Don’t listen to him, Cas. You’ll be fine. It’s just a dance club. Just…” He flicked his eyes up at the bouncer, who was watching them with interest now, and then rested a reassuring hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Just try to blend in and keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“Hah. Blend in. Right,” Dean muttered, before shooting a goofy look and a thumbs up at Cas, and taking off for his evening of separating a few slumming college boys from their paychecks.

“For real, though, Cas,” Sam said, as the Impala turned off into a parking lot a block away, “Call me if you run into any trouble. I’m just across the street if you need a rescue.”

“I’m perfectly capable of sitting in a bar without getting myself into any _trouble,”_ Cas replied, a little indignant that both Sam and Dean still doubted his rapidly developing hunting skills.

Sam grinned, and let his hand drop from Cas’s shoulder. “Yeah, but I think this particular bar is a little different than the places we usually frequent. The offer stands,” he added, before jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the classy lounge across the street, and then turning and marching away.

Cas had stared up at the ominously flickering sign, then leveled the bouncer with his _I will smite you if you give me any shit_ look that usually made Dean laugh, but seemed to leave everyone else on the verge of wetting their pants. The bouncer was a scary-looking dude in his own right, as bouncers tend to be, but even the scariest humans can’t compete with Angel of the Lord levels of smitiness. The bouncer blanched, and with a shaky hand, opened the door for Cas. He hadn’t even bothered to check his ID or charge the $5.00 cover fee. Cas thanked him, and then stepped into the strangely lit club.

The music was a nearly physical presence, battering him with its constant electronic thud. His first thought as he scanned the room was that Dean would surely hate everything about this bar, other than the impressive selection of alcohol on display behind the gleaming black countertop. He edged his way through the crowd swaying and flailing around the dance floor while sweeping the room as best he could under the flashing multicolored lights.

Nearly everyone in the room was dressed in black or other dark colors. As he excused himself to move through the crowd, he’d drawn some strange looks from nearly everyone he passed. One girl with blue hair and swirls of sparkling blue lines decorating her eyelids and cheeks that reminded Cas vaguely of djinn tattoos had done a double-take, before sighing with relief and yelling in his ear.

“I thought you were my dad come to drag me home. What the fuck, dude?” She pointed accusingly at his trench coat, before turning her back on him and resuming dancing with her friends.

Cas looked down at himself, picking at the collar of his coat, wondering what was so offensive about his attire. It was clean, comfortable, and versatile. He’d never had occasion to believe it was inappropriate in any way. Dean sometimes still teased him about his clothes, but if Sam was around he usually defended Cas’s attire. Neither of the Winchesters had ever seriously told him he needed to change. At least, he was fairly certain that Dean wasn’t serious.

He finally reached an empty stool at the far end of the bar, and decided it was as good a vantage point as he could hope for in the crowded club. From there, he could theoretically see the entire dance floor. The shifting lighting made it more difficult, but given enough time, Cas felt sure he’d adjust to the unreal aura the pulsing lights cast over the room. Hidden away in his shadowy corner, most of the club’s other patrons barely even noticed him anymore. The bartender, however, did.

The man’s inexplicably lavender hair was shaved on the sides, but so fluffy and tall on top that Cas was tempted to stick his hand out to see if it even felt like hair. He’d spent a minute or two contemplating how ingenious the man must be to coerce it to defy gravity in such a way. Rather than be put off by Cas’s staring, the bartender simply smirked at him and leaned over the bar to ask what he’d like to drink.

“Beer?” Cas replied, startled enough by the man speaking to him at all that it came out as a question.

The man snorted, and shook his head, waving a hand at the forest of taps lining the bar. “What kind?”

Cas wasn’t there to drink, but he knew he had to _blend in_. “Whatever’s closest, I suppose.”

“Not picky, then?” the man asked, reaching for a pint glass and filling it with a dark ale. He slid it across the bar toward Cas, and gestured again toward Cas’s coat. “Guess not, coming into this place dressed like that. You know, the lounge across the street might be a little more your speed.”

“A friend assured me that I wouldn’t really fit in there, either,” Cas replied, picking up his glass and tasting the beer.

“Yeah,” the bartender agreed. “We get all kinds in here. Goths, punks, ravers, you name it. We’re a really open and accepting sort of community. But you?” He pursed his lips and studied Cas from head to toe, even leaning over the bar to check out his sensible shoes. “Yeah, man, we don’t get a lot of suits in here. I’m Ryan, by the way, in case you need anything else.”

“I’m Castiel. Thank you, Ryan.” Cas said absently, as looked down at himself, and confirmed that he looked much the same as he always did. And then he looked over at Ryan, and his clothing: a black t-shirt with the red Rapture logo from the sign outside emblazoned across the chest, a pair of tight-fitting leather pants held up by a belt studded with silver skulls, and a pair of heavy-looking black boots with silver buckles running from the top of his feet to just below his knees. It was nothing like anything Cas had ever worn, and he briefly wondered if Jimmy might have ever owned such clothing.

“Yes,” Cas said as he completed his assessment of Ryan’s outfit, and then began taking note of what the people closest to them were wearing. “I can see that there seems to be a dress code I failed to comply with.”

Ryan grinned, and then laughed, drawing Cas’s attention from a girl wearing a dress that seemed to be in tatters, black satin and velvet ripped into rags draped over torn black stockings, and another pair of clunky black boots.

“Nah, man. No dress code.”

Another woman slipped behind the bar and waved at Ryan. He waved back as she took over his duties serving drinks, and then leaned against the bar to continue his talk with Cas.

“Here, see? That group over there,” he pointed to a small cluster of people in the far corner of the bar. “They have this whole proper Victorian thing going on, corsets and tailcoats and shit. But over there,” he leaned closer to Cas and directed his attention to another group with rather alarmingly pointy hairdos, and equally alarming quantities of metal spikes protruding from their clothing, and even their skin. “They’ve got the whole death rock thing going on.”

Cas turned wide eyes on his bartender-turned-tour guide. “Death rock?”

“Yeah man, the spooky kids,” Ryan clarified unhelpfully upon noticing Cas’s unease. “They’re not actually out for death, or anything. They’re just into the aesthetic.”

“I...see,” Cas replied.

Ryan shrugged. “It’s not my scene, but yeah. They’re not even the creepiest characters we get. We do have a couple of regulars who are into the whole vampire thing, but I haven’t seen them around yet tonight.”

“Vampires?” Cas blurted, sitting up straighter and suddenly remembering why he’d come in to this bar in the first place. “You have seen vampires here?”

Ryan grinned again. “It’s like Halloween every damn day in here, Castiel. We see a little of everything from the weird side of the street.”

“How do you know they’re vampires, then,” Cas asked intently.

Ryan shrugged. “They look like they fell out of an Anne Rice novel. Lots of red and black, pale as fuck, those little plastic caps on their teeth.” Ryan used two of his fingers to mimic the classic Dracula fangs, before dropping his hand back to the bar and shrugging. “The usual.”

“The… usual,” Cas repeated, shuffling through the memories Metatron had implanted in his head until he recalled Anne Rice’s descriptions of her vampire characters. He nodded conspiratorially at Ryan. “Like Lestat.”

Ryan grinned broadly, and clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You got it.”

This man Cas had just met clearly understood more of the things people expressed through their wardrobe choices than he imagined were possible. Sam and Dean normally wore things that were comfortable and functional, things that were easy to keep clean while digging graves and fighting monsters. They had their FBI suits when they needed to pose as law enforcement officials or other professionals, but aside from that, they never really bothered to express themselves this way through their clothing. After only a few minutes talking with Ryan, he was starting to wonder if his tried-and-true trench coat and suit had been sending out the wrong message to people all these years.

“You seem to be good at interpreting people’s interests from their clothing choices,” Cas ventured hesitantly. Ryan simply shrugged and smiled a little bashfully, but Cas felt like he’d at least get an honest answer out of the man, so he pushed on. “What would you assume about me?”

“What,” Ryan asked, his smile growing into a grin. “You want me to peg your personality based on your outfit?”

“If you please,” Cas replied earnestly.

Ryan sized Cas up consideringly, and then replied. “I’d guess you work in an office. Businessman. Not the big boss, but not some woebegone underling either. You probably drive a hybrid, live uptown but in a small apartment. Probably like classical music more than the club mix we’re spinning tonight, but you don’t really get out much, other than to go to work or pick up your dry cleaning, you eat out at places with white tablecloths and at least three forks at every place setting, and treat yourself once in a while with a soy latte with extra foam. Is that about right?”

Cas’s eyes had slowly widened as Ryan spoke. It was clear to him that his clothes said absolutely nothing truthful about him. And that disturbed him more than the deathrockers did.

“No,” he replied, stunned. “Not a single thing you said is accurate. I’m not a businessman. I spend most of my time either hunting or translating ancient manuscripts of supernatural lore. I drive a 1978 Lincoln, but I spend most of my time in Dean’s 1967 Impala. I do agree that I prefer Dean’s classic rock to the music here, but I have been almost everywhere on earth. My favorite food is cheeseburgers, and I’ve never eaten one with a fork-- let alone needed three forks. I don’t believe I have ever had a soy latte, nor do I understand why it would be served with foam.”

During Castiel’s little speech, it was Ryan’s turn to register surprise. By the end, he was standing up straight, shaking his head at Cas in disbelief.

“Dude, if that’s all true, why the fuck are you dressed that way? You are totally badass! Ancient lore? And classic rock? Dude! Just… sit right there for a sec. I’ll be right back.”

Ryan climbed right over the bar and dashed through the crowd to a group of people who smiled and waved, then greeted him with hugs. They were all dressed in black, too, but each of their outfits was different. Cas tried to interpret what each article of clothing said about its wearer, but he had to admit to himself that he was no closer to deciphering this strange human language than he’d been an hour ago.

The whole group turned as one to regard him when Ryan pointed him out, and Cas waved shyly back, before returning his attention to scanning the room. So far, his reconnaissance mission had been a bust. Everyone in the club was human, despite the fact that one man appeared to have horns sprouting from his head. On closer inspection, Cas discovered that they were simply a strange and elaborate part of his hairdo.

While Cas was distracted by a group of people dancing rather sensuously together, ensuring that no one was actually biting anyone else’s neck despite how it might have looked, Ryan returned with three women and a man who he introduced as his friends.

“Lily, Dahlia, Jaimie, and Bill, this is Castiel. Castiel, these are my buddies. They have magnanimously volunteered to give you a makeover. If, you know, you’re up for it.”

Cas looked at these new people critically, and the girl called Jaimie waved shyly at him. He knew what a makeover was from watching television with Dean. It seemed to be something that happened to women on a show about weddings. He wasn’t sure what to think of the term, or the procedure, being applied to him. “A makeover?”

The man called Bill threw his head back and laughed, his long black hair sliding over his shoulder with the motion and exposing an elaborate floral tattoo around his throat, before raising a placating hand toward Cas. “Yeah, man. Nothing weird. Just thought between the four of us we could get you outfitted a little more appropriately. You know, fit your wardrobe to match the kind of person you are. It’s just a bit of fun, that’s all.”

Cas squinted at Bill, noticing for the first time that he seemed to be wearing makeup, too. At least around his eyes. He briefly wondered how badly he’d unintentionally been misrepresenting himself all these years. He’d never stopped to think about the complex social cues humans expressed through the clothes they wore. It had never seemed important before, aside from Dean’s joking comments. And that one time Dean had told him to never change, but Cas was confident that comment hadn’t referred to his clothes. Perhaps there was something more than Dean’s sense of humor at work behind his teasing. He still didn’t know what to make of the offer these veritable strangers had made to him.

“And this is something you do regularly? Give people... makeovers?”

“Well, technically we do,” Lily said, pointing at herself and Dahlia. “My sister and I own the boutique next door. Dahl usually works the makeup counter, and I do fittings and alterations. Jaimie’s our best customer and our oldest friend, and we put up with Bill because he’s awesome, and because he helps us out on inventory and delivery days. He’s also the best tattoo artist in town and rents our back room for his studio. Between the four of us, I think we can  help you out, if you’d like.”

Cas regarded Ryan’s friends for a moment, considering their offer. “I… was waiting for someone, actually. Perhaps it’s best I stay here.”

“Aw, come on, man,” Ryan chimed in. “It doesn’t look like you’re friend’s gonna show. It’s after midnight, and the place is already starting to clear out.”

Cas took one more careful look around the club, noticing that more than half of the dancers had already worn themselves out and headed home for the night. At least, he hopes they’ve headed home and not fallen victim to a vampire lying in wait outside. Cas realized that it was a distinct possibility the vampire they were hunting had never even entered any of the establishments his victims may have frequented. It seemed irresponsible for him not to at least scan the immediate area outside the club, where the sidewalk was likely at least as crowded as the dance floor as patrons packed up and headed out. That sealed it for him, and he nodded, returning his attention to Lily.

“Okay, then I accept your offer. What do I need to do?”

Lily grinned at him and held out her hand. “Come on, we’ll take care of you.”

 

Outside the club, the sidewalk was a bustling place. It was an odd mixture of bubbly and excited conversations that could finally be held in the relative quiet of the crowded sidewalk, now that the music still blaring along inside the building had been muffled into a dull booming when the heavy front door slid shut. A disorganized taxi queue had formed, and a steady stream of cabs slowly collected the more exhausted revelers and carried them safely home to sleep off their evening out.

Cas took his time following his new friends to their shop next door. He made the excuse that he was going to look for his “friend” one last time, and then meet them in the boutique in a few minutes. Lily already had her keys in hand, and Jaimie offered him a quick little salute as they headed next door. It only took him a minute to stroll down the length of the alley behind the club, and one pass through the crowd milling around out front to be sure that the area was truly vampire-free. He figured it was safe enough to spend a little time next door, and he could still be back out in plenty of time to observe the last stragglers at Rapture departing for the night. It was likely to be one of them who presented the easiest target to their vampire, anyway, when there were fewer potential witnesses loitering around.

He sent a quick text to Sam updating him on Rapture's status as _currently unoccupied by vampires_ , and letting Sam know he’d be at the shop next door to Rapture. Since he didn’t bother to ask the store’s name, he took a glance at the front window. He snorted and nearly dropped his phone when he saw the black and blue painted lettering surrounded by two huge black wings. Lily’s shop was called _Fallen Angel Boutique_. If he hadn’t been on board for his makeover before, the name alone would’ve convinced him it was kismet.

Cas opened the door into a large and inviting space. Unlike the dark and flashy interior of the club next door, Fallen Angel was outfitted in an eclectic mix of antique furniture, large displays of an incredibly diverse range of clothing, unusual hats, artwork that mostly featured depictions of angels, and a large case of what Castiel could only describe as _oddities_. There were strange glasses with knobs and various colorfully tinted lenses, sculptures of birds and bats, the odd cherub, and an amazing array of jewelry-- some of which he couldn’t even begin to picture adorning a human being.

When he arrived, Dahlia and Lily had excused themselves to the back room, leaving Bill and Jaimie to answer his questions as he browsed the shop’s wares. He’d been so intrigued by some of the jewelry that he hadn’t noticed both of his companions had removed their overcoats, revealing the extensive tattoos covering nearly every inch of visible skin on their arms, chests and necks. The beautiful colors and images intrigued him, but he knew how Dean commented about his staring and he tried to curb the impulse with these relative strangers, even if he’d long ago given up trying with Dean.

“I’m sorry,” he said, admiring the whorls of color and a botanical garden’s worth of flowers interlaced with lines of poetry adorning Jaimie’s right forearm, while pointing back at the jewelry case. “I was going to ask the purpose of this item, but I have to say that your tattoos are beautiful.”

Jaimie grinned, holding out her arms for Cas to get a closer look. “Thanks. Bill did most of them for me.”

Cas glanced up at Bill, who’d settled on an old library wing chair upholstered in plush purple velvet. The man smiled and quirked an eyebrow at Cas, almost in challenge. “Then Bill is a very talented artist.”

“He certainly is,” Jaimie replied, looking mischievous, but turning the conversation back to Cas’s original inquiry. “What did you want to ask about in the case? I can probably help you out.”

“Oh, yes,” Cas cleared his throat. “These… metal bars. What is the purpose of them? I assume they are jewelry of some sort, but how would one wear them? Are they some sort of cuff links?”

Bill laughed, and leaned forward in his chair. “Nah, but come to think of it, yeah, some of them might work as cuff links.”

Jaimie shot him a glare, and turned back to Cas. “They’re barbells, different lengths and sizes for different types of piercings. Like this longer one?” She pointed out a nearly two inch long bar that resembled an arrow, and Cas nodded. “That’s for an industrial piercing, across the top of your ear like this.” She lifted her hair and showed Cas the array of silver decorating her ear. He also noticed a smaller bar through her eyebrow, and a tiny ring through each side of her lower lip. Cas leaned closer to study each piercing.

“I see,” he said, eyes moving from the jewelry to more closely examine the intricate tattoo of a sparrow on the back of her hand. “And all of this, the jewelry and tattoos, and the clothing, is for others to interpret things about you?”

Jaimie smiled a little sadly at Cas, but took his hand and led him over to a rack of long black coats. “Nothing about anything I wear is for other people, Castiel. It’s for me. Every one of my tattoos is like a little snapshot of my life at the time I got it. Things that are special to _me_ , or important to _me_. I like to think of them as little slivers of my soul peeking out through my skin. I choose my clothes because they make me happy. And that’s really the big picture, right? We should just let ourselves be happy, no matter how we choose to dress or express ourselves with our bodies.”

Cas considered her words, and had to agree. If expressing herself this way brought her happiness, especially when in his experience happiness was so difficult to come by, then it seemed like a worthwhile endeavor to investigate further. His own tattoos were primarily functional, spells set into his skin for protection. He supposed that said something about him, personally, but he wondered now if he might consider another tattoo, one that existed only to make him smile. Perhaps he would learn something about happiness from these people that he could impart to the Winchesters, as well.

Lily and Dahlia chose that moment to return, bearing armloads of leather, lace, and velvet. Dahlia shooed Bill out of his chair, and dumped her pile across the seat, pulling out several pairs of black leather pants in different styles. “We weren’t sure what size you need, so we brought a bunch of stuff for you to try on, if you want.”

“I, uh, don’t know what size I am either,” Cas replied, a little dumbfounded by the mountains of choices he was being presented with.

“We should’ve taken your measurements first,” Lily added, coming up to him with an assortment of shirts draped over one arm and holding one up across his chest. “But if you take off your coat, we can do that now.”

“I suppose that’s necessary.” Cas shrugged off his overcoat, and the suit jacket beneath it. He removed his tie, and stuffed it in his coat pocket. “Is this sufficient for measuring purposes?”

Lily smiled and nodded, then pulled out a measuring tape and set to work. After noting her findings down on a slip of paper, she went over to the pile and picked out a few pieces for Cas to try on, handed the bundle over, and pointed him toward the dressing room at the back of the shop.

It was strange, pulling on the snug leather pants and the tightly fitting cotton t-shirt. He recognized the name of the band printed across the front as one Dean had mentioned in the past, but he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the demon depicted in their logo. It seemed somehow wrong to wear such a thing now that Dean had finally recovered his humanity. For the purposes of sizing, though, he figured it was all right to wear for a few minutes, and he stepped back out into the shop to see what his new friends thought of his look.

“Damn, dude,” Bill said, looking him over from his messy hair (thanks to pulling on the too-snug t-shirt) to the toes of his stocking feet (it seemed silly to put his shoes back on only to have to remove them again almost immediately-- if those makeover shows were accurate, he’d be forced to try on other clothes). “If I looked that hot in leather, I’d never wear anything else!”

“It is rather warm,” Cas replied, running his hands over his thighs to caress the soft material. “It is pleasant feeling, though.”

Jaimie nodded agreement. “Damn fine, Castiel. You look awesome. You like it?”

Cas plucked at the shirt and shot an apologetic glance over at Lily. “I know Dean enjoys this music, but perhaps you have something without a demon on it? I don’t want to bring up uncomfortable memories for him.”

Lily and Dahlia exchanged a confused glance, but Dahlia dug through her pile for a moment and tossed him a different shirt. “If demons don’t do it for your guy, then how about angels?”

Cas caught it, and held it up to examine the logo imprinted on the new shirt. “Led Zeppelin, yes. They are Dean’s favorite band. I think this will be fine.”

“Try it on, then,” Dahlia encouraged. “Let’s see how it looks.”

The four of them sat there watching, and Cas didn’t think twice about slipping the Black Sabbath shirt over his head and setting it down on the counter with the other clothing. The second he got his shirt off, though, Bill stood up and came closer.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, man. You didn’t say you had some ink. Mind if I get a look at that?”

Cas froze with the Zeppelin shirt in his hands, but figured Bill was a professional, and Cas was happy to help him satisfy his professional curiosity. He turned sideways so Bill could see the Enochian phrase on his ribs and the newly-healed anti-possession tattoo over his heart. Dean had insisted, after his brush with being a demon, that even if Cas was still technically an angel, it was better to be safe than sorry. That’s how he ended up in the chair next to Sam when he had his own tattoo redone. It seemed such a small price to pay to make Dean happy.

Bill examined both tattoos, before standing up and smiling in approval. “That’s some nice work there. But do you mind if I ask what it says? I’ve never seen that kind of lettering before.”

“It’s Enochian, a warding spell for…” Cas realized he was talking to a bunch of people whose only belief in the supernatural was likely through the sort of people they knew from the club next door, who pretended to be vampires from popular novels. He didn’t need to cause these kind people any undue distress, and adjusted his answer accordingly. “It’s a protective spell.”

Bill nodded, his attention moving to the star encircled with flames. “And that one? That’s just badass.”

“Yes,” Cas replied, running his fingertips over the newer of his tattoos. “I suppose it is.”

“You think I could take a picture? I might like to adapt that design for one of my customers.”

“I don’t mind if you take a picture, but changing the design will change the intent. It may not serve its intended purpose if any of the elements are altered.”

“What purpose does it serve, then?” Jaimie asked, coming in for a closer look.

“It prevents demons from possessing the bearer.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he worried he’d said too much. His eyes darted from Jaimie, to Bill, to the two sisters who’d frozen while digging through the pile of clothes. Jaimie looked a little surprised, but she nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. There’s a lot of bad shit in the world. I guess you’re into paganism or something like that, then? With the protection spells and whatever?”

Cas reigned in a laugh, and grinned. “Something like that.”

“Well, I think it’s great,” she replied, turning to Bill. “You think you can fit that into my backpiece?”

Bill nodded, snapping a picture of the design on Cas’s chest. “We can do that.”

“So is that all your art?” Dahlia asked. “No art for art’s sake? Just religious stuff?”

Cas replied while finally pulling the Led Zeppelin t-shirt on. “Yes. I never had occasion to consider anything else.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Lily added.

“Ooh,” Jaimie chimed in. “Maybe something with your boy’s name. What was it again? Dean?”

At her suggestion, Cas blanched. “I… I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

Jaimie frowned. “Oh, sorry. I, uh, from how much you talked about him, I just assumed… yeah, I don’t know what I assumed. But sorry.”

Cas smiled weakly, but before he could even begin to explain his complicated relationship with Dean, his phone began to ring. It brought him right back to the case he was supposed to be investigating. “I need to answer that, if you don’t mind.”

He dug out his phone, and saw three new text messages from Dean.

            >> _You can stand down. Sammy took care of it._

_ >>I’m headed out to help him clean up. Good news is I also cleaned up. :)_

_ >>We’ll swing by and pick you up in ten._

Cas smiled, glad that no more innocent people would fall victim to the vampire, but also glad for Dean that he’d apparently done well playing pool. He and Sam would both be in a good mood. He felt obliged to tell Dean that he was no longer at the club, though, and sent his own text.

            << _I’ll be at the shop next door to Rapture. It’s called Fallen Angel. I will wait here for you._

Dean texted him back immediately.

            _> >A little on the nose there, isn’t it? And wtf are you doing at a shop?_

_ <<The club was closing, and I was offered a makeover._

_ >>Dude! I repeat: WTF?_

Cas sighed and shook his head, still smiling at what he imagined Dean’s incredulous reaction must’ve looked like.

            _< <When you get here, come inside, and you can see for yourself._

With that, he dropped his phone on top of his old coat and returned his attention to his new friends. “That was Dean. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Lily squinted at him, eyeing him up from head to toe again, clicking the metal bar in her tongue against her teeth as she concentrated. “Well, then, we need to get you finished up before he gets here.”

The three ladies set to work in a flurry of activity. Dahlia ran back to the dressing room to check his shoe size, and emerged with a pair of heavy black motorcycle boots of the variety that Dean usually preferred. Jaimie grabbed a long black coat, similar to his own but much better fitted. It was longer than his old coat, and looked to be just as functional. Lily stood back assessing the wall of jewelry and other accessories. Bill just sat there assessing Cas like the relatively blank canvas he was in the eyes of a tattoo artist.

“So if you could pick anything to have tattooed, what would it be?” Bill asked, while Cas laced up the new boots.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Cas replied, pulling the second boot on. “What would you recommend?”

“Dude, I never tell people what they should have inked into their skin. It’s a hundred percent personal choice, you know? You pick something you like, something meaningful to you.”

“Hmmm,” Cas considered. Jaimie’s earlier suggestion about tattooing Dean’s name on himself made a lot more sense now. He obviously liked Dean very much, and Dean was likely the most meaningful thing that ever happened to him in his eons of existence. It still didn’t seem like a good idea, though. He had to think of something else. “I like bees.”

Bill smiled at him, and pulled out a sketch pad. “Bees. Yeah, I think I can do something with that.” He concentrated on his drawing while Dahlia dragged Cas over to the makeup counter.

“Your eyes are too incredible not to do anything with,” she said, nudging him over to a chair and pulling out a black eye pencil. “Just, close your eyes for a second. This won’t hurt.”

Cas stared at her for a moment, her pencil poised a few inches from his face. Dahlia was about to take a step back and let him go, when he took a deep breath, nodded, and closed his eyes.

“Okay, there. We’re done. Have a look.”

Cas opened his eyes, and saw his reflection in the mirror Dahlia held up in front of his face. It was strange and almost unsettling, but she was right. With the dark lines around his eyes, they were the first thing he noticed about his face. It was disarming. He rather enjoyed it.

He looked up at Dahlia’s hopeful and inquisitive face, and smiled. “This is highly unusual, but I think I like it. Thank you.”

She returned his smile, and set the mirror back on the counter, assessing his outfit so far. “Well, then, I think we’re nearly done.”

“Here, try this on,” Jaimie said, holding up a belt with a large silver buckle. I think your other belt’s a little too corporate to wear with those pants.”

He took it, and threaded it through the loops of his leather pants. Jaimie showed him how to fasten the buckle, which depicted a skeleton bearing a pair of huge angel wings. It seemed oddly fitting, if slightly unsettling.

It was Lily’s turn to play dress-up with him, but she just stood there, several items in her hands, looking unsure. Once again she clicked the metal barbell in her tongue against her teeth while deep in thought. The action intrigued Cas.

“May I ask what function the bar through your tongue serves?”

Dahlia snorted and Bill rolled his eyes, but smiled and went back to his sketching. Lily seemed taken aback by his question, but she answered after a moment. “Well, first of all, I like it. I’m sorry, sometimes I fiddle with it without realizing what I’m doing.”  
Cas waited patiently for another reason, other than simply liking it, but Lily just blushed and shot a sideways glance over at Bill. Cas was about to inquire further, but just then the front door to the shop opened, and Dean, closely followed by Sam, came shuffling inside.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. “Sam.”

He was about to introduce his new friends, when Dean froze in his tracks, and Sam had to quickly sidestep so as not to walk straight into him. Cas tilted his head and squinted at Dean, wondering if perhaps he’d misinterpreted Dean's earlier texts about having been successful at winning a lot of money playing pool. Perhaps Dean wasn’t in such a good mood after all. “Are you feeling all right, Dean?”

Dean let out the breath he’d been holding since getting a look at Cas. “What? Yeah, fine.”

Sam shot an annoyed yet bemused smirk at his brother before turning to Cas and giving him the thumbs up. “You finally look like the badass you are, Cas. Nice pants. Aren’t they nice pants, Dean?”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean turned to glare at his brother, and finally noticed the other people in the room. “Uh, hi. Um. Hello.”

Cas walked over to Dean and led him further into the shop. “Dean, this is Lily, Dahlia, Bill, and Jaimie. They were kind enough to point out how inappropriate my old suit was.”

Dean sputtered. “There’s nothing wrong with your suit, Cas.”

“Then why do you constantly poke fun at my coat, and my tie, and my shoes?”

“I don’t… shit, Cas. That’s just how I am, you know that. How many times a day do I rag on Sam?”

“Seventeen,” Sam shouted unhelpfully.

“But Sam is your brother. I’ve been led to believe that is how brothers behave toward one another.”

“You’re family, too, Cas. Casual insults come with the package.”

At that point in the conversation Lily snorted, and Dahlia poked her in the ribs. “Yep, family is always good for a few lovingly delivered barbs.”

At her words, Dean flushed. Cas considered his reaction, but was smart enough not to say anything about it and make Dean even more uncomfortable. He knew how much Dean hated to discuss anything having to do with feelings, especially love. Nonetheless, he felt warmed by Lily’s description of family.

He was also encouraged that Sam seemed to think these new clothes suited him, but he was impatient to hear what Dean thought. “Do you think this attire is more in line with my personality, though, Dean?”

He spun around slowly, like the ladies on the television show, so Dean could make a fully informed judgment. While his back was turned, he heard Dean make a strange choking noise, and saw Sam biting down on his lips trying to hold in a laugh.

Dean’s words came out slightly strangled. “Yeah, Cas. Looking good, there. Uh, nice call on the shirt, by the way,” he finished, as Cas turned to face him again. Then Dean noticed his eyeliner. He stared at Cas the way he usually did, but pointed up at his face. “That’s, uh, whatever they did your eyes. That works for you, too.”

Cas grinned. “I thought so, as well.”

Lily interrupted their staring, holding up the long black coat. “Don’t forget about this.”

Cas slid the coat on and settled it around his shoulders, straightening out the cuffs, before holding his hands out to his sides. “Is this better?”

“Um. Yeah. You look like the illegitimate kid of Neo and Rick Deckard.”

Cas looked puzzled for a moment. He understood the references, but was puzzled by the biology. “But they are both male. They can’t produce children.”

“It’s an expression, Cas.”

“Ah, I see.”

Bill finished his drawing, and sidled up next to Sam to watch the proceedings. At this point, he leaned in toward Sam and asked quietly, “Are they always like this? Because that’s really fucking intense.”

Sam sighed, and rubbed his temple. “Yeah, this is about par for the course.”

Bill shook his head, and muttered. “They really need to do something about that.”

“It’s been like eight years. I think I’m stuck with this now.” Sam waved a dismissive hand at his idiot brother and their idiot angel and then turned to browse the shop while the two of them avoided handling their idiotic interpersonal drama.

Lily proved more intrepid though, and bravely stepped right into the middle of their sad, drama-less drama. She walked right up to Cas and ran her fingers through his messy hair, actually floofing it up even more. Dean’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, torn between wanting to smack this woman’s hands away from Cas, and running his own fingers through it. Lily didn’t miss the pained look that passed over his face, and smiled a little sheepishly as she stepped back to stand beside Dean to assess Cas’s new look.

She looked right at Dean when she asked, “I hate to hide that gorgeous hair, but what do you think of this?” She held up a black hat with a silver studded band.

Dean took one look at the hat at grinned, grabbing it out of her hands and smashing it on his own head. “Hey, Sammy, look! Just like the one I got in Sunrise. I still got it back at the bunker.”

“I think the hat looks better on you than it would on me, Dean.”

Dean grinned, and dropped it onto Cas’s head, then grinned wider. “I don’t know, man.” He affected a John Wayne drawl. “Pin a sheriff badge on you, give you a set of spurs, and you could clean up this here town.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean,” Cas replied, removing the hat, and handing it politely back to Lily.

She snorted, but walked away to put the hat back on its shelf while Dean and Cas bantered back and forth for a few minutes. Sam was still commiserating with Bill, and Dahlia and Jaimie had taken all the unnecessary extra clothes back to the storage room. It seemed pretty clear that Cas and Dean’s barbs were lovingly delivered, but they definitely weren’t anywhere near the realm of _brotherly._ Too bad neither of them seemed to realize it. Instead of interfering with their conversation, Lily stepped over to talk with Sam and Bill.

“Are they always like this?” she asked Sam.

“That’s what I asked,” Bill replied. “And the answer’s yes.”

“But they have no idea how they look, do they,” she said, eyes narrowed on Sam.

It wasn’t a question, so he just shrugged and looked a little helpless.

She glanced over at Dean and Cas and shook her head. “Well, I suggest you find a way to make them see it.”

“If only it were that easy,” Sam lamented.

“What do you mean? They’re like _right there_.” Lily replied, forcing herself not to raise her voice. She followed up in a whisper. “Just one little nudge, and _boom_. Happiness!”

Sam snorted, and Bill shook his head, waving a hand at the oblivious dopes, still standing about a foot closer together than normal people would find comfortable. “He says they’ve been like this near on a decade, and nothing.”

Lily’s eyes bugged out, and she couldn’t help turning and staring at them while trying to process the ridiculous notion. “How can they stand it?”

Before anyone could say anything else, Dahlia and Jaimie came back with Cas’s old clothes in hand, neatly folded into a paper shopping bag.

“We weren’t sure if you wanted to buy the new outfit, Castiel,” Dahlia said, “But we figured, just in case…” She set the bag on the couch next to Cas’s coats, and then took Jaimie’s hand.

“I think we’re done here,” Jaimie said. “We’re headed home, but it was nice meeting you, Castiel. I hope you had fun tonight.”

“I certainly did. Thank you both.”

“Maybe we’ll see you around again sometime?” Dahlia added, letting Jaimie lead her to the front door.

Cas smiled and nodded as the two women headed out. He then turned to Dean with a more serious look, and shrugged out of the long black coat, draping it over the counter.

“So what do you think, should I buy these clothes? Are they suitable?”

Dean felt his mouth go dry. He’d never talk someone out of a Zep shirt, but the way this one fit Cas like a glove seemed borderline indecent. And speaking of fitting like a glove, there were the leather pants to contend with. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, shuffling his feet and steeling his nerves to take an objective and critical look at those pants. Damn.

Dean cleared his throat, and hoped to every deity he’d ever encountered that his voice wouldn’t crack before he spoke. “Well, the boots are definitely better than the fucking dress shoes you usually wear. In… our line of work, at least.”

He raised his eyes back to Cas’s face in time to see the slight frown, the microscopic pinch forming between his eyebrows.

“But the rest of it? Is it not appropriate?”

Dean choked out a laugh and restrained himself from blurting out _dammit no Cas, it is not appropriate for you to look that hot when I have enough trouble squashing down my feelings for you in the goddamned frumpy accountant getup, unless you are actively trying to kill me now_. Because, yeah. _That_ wouldn’t be _appropriate_.

Instead of all those things he should’ve said, he replied, “Um, yeah, Cas. It’s fine. You… uh… you look good. If you like it, you should get it.”

Cas grinned, and laid a hand gently on Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean reached up and awkwardly patted Cas’s hand. His smile was a little pained, but he _was_ smiling. He turned and called out to Lily, “So, what do we owe you for this?”

She tallied up the boots, pants, belt, shirt, and coat. Dean tried not to express outrage at the total, because seeing Cas’s ass in those pants was more than worth the cost. He still handed over one of their credit cards, rather than forking over most of the cash he’d won that night.

Cas collected the bag with his old clothes, and then picked up his new coat. He thanked Lily and Bill profusely for all their help, and Bill presented him with the sketch he’d been working on since Cas had mentioned liking bees.

“I’d be happy to tattoo it for you sometime, if you’d like,” Bill said, as a look of sheer delight passed over Cas’s features. “Or you can have the guy who did your other work take care of it for you.”

Dean peeked over Cas’s shoulder to see the detailed drawing of a bee. “You gettin’ another tattoo, Cas?”

“I might,” Cas replied. “It would make me happy.”

Dean was taken aback by that, and gave Cas an assessing look. “Well, there you go. That’s a good enough reason, I guess.”

He turned half way around so he could see Dean’s face, and replied, “Yes, it is.” Without missing a beat, he turned the rest of the way to see Lily and Bill over Dean’s shoulder, and waved his thanks again as he opened the door and backed out onto the sidewalk.

Sam called out that he’d join them in a minute, and hung back to talk with Lily and Bill, and give Dean and Cas a few minutes to get their shit together. He’d been trying to give them a little more space when he could. Sam was getting sick of stumbling over them at seemingly critical moments in their relationship. He sighed, hoping like hell his brother and the angel might actually finish one of their conversations one of these days.

Dean opened the trunk so Cas could stow his old clothes, and was surprised when he carefully laid his new coat atop the rest of their gear.

“Aren’t you gonna wear that?” Dean asked, gesturing toward the coat. He was still hoping he wouldn’t have to endure the visual of Cas in those pants, with his skin-tight t-shirt exposing his _naked arms because how the hell is he so tan when he never takes off the fucking coat goddammit_.

Cas shrugged. “It’s a pleasant night. I don’t think it’s necessary.”

Dean nodded absently, sweeping his gaze over Cas, his hand still poised to slam the trunk shut.

Cas began to feel a little self-conscious under Dean’s scrutiny, which was unusual. Sure Dean had looked at him intently before, but never like this. He’d never looked so lost either.

He took a step closer to Dean, and spoke quietly, soothingly. “Is everything alright, Dean?”

Dean blinked, looking right into Cas’s dark lined eyes. His mouth opened and closed several times while he tried to decide what to say. He finally shook his head. “Yeah, fine. It’s just… you look good like this.” He waved his free hand in a sad little circle. “Like you’re gonna give the Hell’s Angels a run for their money.”

Cas looked momentarily confused. “Hell doesn’t have ang… oh, you mean the motorcycle gang.”

Dean smiled a little at that, and nodded, still frozen with one hand on the open trunk lid. Cas took another step forward, until they were nearly toe to toe. He reached up and put one hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean glanced down to see it resting there.

“Then why does that make you look so sad?”

“Nnngh.” Dean didn’t break eye contact, but he finally slammed the trunk shut. Here it was. He was going to have to say it out loud. If he waited much longer, Cas was gonna just run off and join a biker gang or something anyway. He’d probably gather the rest of the fallen angels who wanted to stay on Earth and doll them all up like something out of Mad Max, and ride around the country on fucking motorcycles and rounding up demons like some sort of post-apocalyptic cowboys. And just fuck that.

“Dean?” Cas asked, his concern growing as Dean’s face pinched up as his train of thought progressed.

His words came tumbling out without authorization. “You look incredible. I mean, you always did, even in the accountant costume. Hell, even in the damn blue Gas-n-Sip vest. But like that? That’s just unfair. I mean, come on. How can it be legal for an angel to look that fucking attractive?”

Dean finally got himself under control, and bit his lip so he’d just shut up already. Cas looked startled and confused by his outburst, and he was on the verge of apologizing and taking everything back when Cas finally looked down at himself and then back up to Dean.

“You think I’m attractive?”

Dean snorted. “Well, yeah. Have you seen you?”

“But,” Cas hesitated. “I had no idea.”

“Cas, trust me. You? Are attractive.” Despite the intent tone in his voice, Dean still looked lost.

Cas ran his free hand along the soft leather covering his thigh and looked forlorn. “I learned tonight that people should choose what they wear because it makes them happy. I thought dressing this way would make _me_ happy, but your happiness it important to me, too, Dean. Even more important than my own.”

Dean shook his head, about to argue why it was stupid to put his needs above Cas’s own, but Cas cut him off.

“No, Dean. If something about these new clothes is upsetting to you, I’ll go return them right now.”

Cas dropped his hand from Dean’s shoulder, and turned to head back into the shop. Dean grabbed his wrist, and Cas turned back. Dean swallowed hard, and let go of Cas’s arm. This time, his words were more carefully measured. He was gonna have to use the F word, and it was taking everything in him not to run away screaming.

“Cas, you can wear whatever you want to wear. It’s never gonna make me anything but happy if you’re happy. It’s just, it’s a little hard to rein in my feelings for you when you look that good. S-sorry. That’s the truth, though. So don’t take them back on my account. I just need a little time to deal with it.”

“Feelings?”

Oh, god. Cas was gonna be obtuse about it.

“Yes, feelings. Are you happy now? I said it.”

Cas’s wary smile slowly grew into a full-on grin. “Yes, Dean. I am very happy now.” Without another word, Cas leaned in and planted a kiss on Dean.

Twenty minutes and a cup of lapsang souchong later, Sam, Lily, and Bill finally wandered outside to lock up the shop.

“Well, lookie there,” Bill said, pointing to where Dean and Cas were waiting by the Impala.

“Should we clap, do you think?” Lily asked. “Does this situation require applause?”

Sam, momentarily mortified at his brother and the angel and their complete disregard for public decency, quickly regained his composure and rolled his eyes. “I was thinking more along the lines of a spray bottle.”

“Maybe an air horn,” Bill suggested.

“You know we can hear you, right?” Dean said, finally pulling away from Cas, who he’d had pinned against the trunk of the Impala, the both of them completely disheveled and breathless. “What the hell took you so long, anyway?”

Sam shrugged. “Apparently I have bad timing, so I was trusting Lily here to judge how long we needed to leave you two alone for this to happen.” He waved his hand between Dean and Cas, since they’d sort of already proved his point for him.

Dean just glared at him for a second, before telling Sam, “Yeah, well, you can get your own room tonight. And Cas is riding shotgun.”

As Dean and Cas climbed in the front seat, Sam turned to Lily and Bill once again, and snorted. “Like he could pay me to share a room with them tonight.”

Lily grinned. “Look at it this way. At least for right now, you’re all happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am on the tumblr as [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com), where apparently I easily fall victim to nefarious plotbunnies and can be convinced to elaborate up to 10,000 words on random tag rambles. *sigh*


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